REM Sleepwagon!

I am exhausted all of the time. I see the world sometimes through a hallucenation caused by the lack of sleep. Those are way more fun than PTSD overlap or other scary things. When it is just a lack of sleep everything looks better. My hair for instance is not short but a loooong princess’s hair in blazing red. My clothing all look like gowns with beautiful gems. The way I would dress if it were wheelchair friendly (working on modifying my actual gowns, though I still need to get me some gems to encrust them with.) Sprite and Nymph look the same, maybe a bit sparkly. Everything looks great. Physically it feels like crap.

I haven’t been sleeping, my body sleeps but my mind sits and spins in a cycle of thought, I am trapped there. I don’t know what is keeping me there because it isn’t pain this time. It could be PTSD. I think it is, but without sleep it gets harder to think, harder to feel. I can’t feel the music today and that composition job is waiting for me. I need to get to work on it but I can’t. My hands are tied by a need for REM.

I dreamed two nights ago or I would be approaching a psychotic state. I know after two weeks of no REM I enter psychosis. The glitter is a warning sign, and yet I miss it today. There is something stressful, besides PTSD and fireworks going off at odd hours. The last dream I had was a twisted nightmare however. Not only does the body use the dream state to process things our subconscious cannot quite grasp but dreams also are a relaxation period and some down time. By not dreaming I am not letting my brain rest and I reach burn out very quickly. That is another reason that I am taking time off, as much as I can. My brain is screaming with ideas and if I wrote even a third of them down I’d have my hands fall off from exhaustion.

I know it is a painful choice to curl away from creative outlets in the hope that I fall asleep from exhaustion or am satiated, but I know that is not the healthy one. I would rather fall asleep and dream instead of pushing myself until I am at the edge of collapse. I dream either way, eventually but with one there is the promise of nightmares and physical sickness, and with the choice I am making I may still have both but there is the chance I won’t have to have terror fueled dreams.

I used to have nightmares every time that I dreamed. In fact, it reached a point where I started altering my dreams consciously. I am not sure if the nights when I know I am asleep but am still thinking and imagining my stories, something to entertain me while I lay there for a few hours in boredom, or the skill to dream lucidly came first. I just know that when I talked about it I ended up in a mental hospital. That’s right, my mother and her army of brainwashers, I mean therapists… well they decided to try and control even what I dreamed. It wasn’t enough to alter me in the day, but they wanted to take away my nights.

I didn’t dream for almost a year because there were rules set on my dreams. I chose to not dream. If I started to dream I woke myself up. This is why I know I can run on no sleep. This is also why I know the symptoms of psychosis so well. That was the time when I was put on antipsychotics that toxified my body. I think those drugs gave me the water and sun allergies as they came at the same time, but there is no definitive there as I was also in puberty. My body was changing, and being violated even by FDA standards which are not as tight as they should be.

I sit here longing for dreams, when once I fled from them. I find this a bit odd. It feels a bit like a partial plot in a bad romance novel. My good dreams may qualify as nightmares for some people though. I like to fight in my dreams. I am the heroine, beaten, bloodied, and almost broken. The enemy thinks I am defeated then I find with in myself the power. It is sometimes more strenghth, sometimes a sword that I find laying on the ground, or a bit witchbladey one with in me, other times it is my companion (Sprite as a Dragon, who doesn’t love that?). Most often it is the power of my words.

My word power took over as the weapon of choice in my dreams some time after I turned 21. I stopped trying to just kill and destroy my enemies (Father mostly) and talked to them. I argued with the recordings and PTSD in the form of abject evil allegory (though I retain my disabilities despite the Sci Fi fantasy cliches). I won the arguments. Again and again. I chose to live at this time too. There is a direct correlation between my dreams and my unpacking of privilege as well.

So I want it. I want to dream. Even if it means sometimes I have nightmares, I dream. I never used to have the good dreams, where I was running from something, and turned to fight. I used to just die over and over because Daddy loves me. Those dreams await me due to the high PTSD risk right now, but I can take them on. If I can stop thinking long enough to dream, I can do anything.

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2 Comments

  1. I’m rather lacking in teaspoons myself at the moment, so this won’t be the most insightful comment, but… I just wanted to share that I thought this piece was absolutely beautiful. Much sleeping dust to you!

  2. Thank you! I hope you get more teaspoons soon. Teaspoons go great with smoothies in deep cups, so I hope you also have delicious smoothies soon.

    Insight is in the mind of the one reading things as well. I find the idea of sleeping dust beautiful, and I will try faery dust imagery when I finally let myself bed down. Thank you.


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